Revival

You sank beneath the waters of oblivion
Eyes closed, face pale
I saw you through the murky swirling
Your still form stirring dirt into a faint trail
I reached out to you but you slipped away
I called out but you could not hear
So I stretched out into the current of forgotten things
Holding back my silent fear

I tried to pull you out but the river was molten metal
It held on and dragged you down
Your half-familiar face began to disappear
Creased in a slight, distant frown.
No, it shall not be, I said
I put all my strength into it
Slowly but surely the liquid tendrils slid off
You surfaced bit by bit

Then you were on the bank, dripping wet but safe
I shook you and begged you to awake
You had been underwater for so long
I was afraid it was more than you could take.
But then you coughed, spitting water from your cold lips
And you opened your eyes at last
Eyes that brightened, ready to take on the future
You're not going to live in the past.

Thanksgiving

Roasted brown crisps

Perching upon a tree

Combing off remnants

In a boyish wind.

Down below

A sweeper groans

Of the endless fall.

Forgetting whose shade

Embraced him through

The summer's glaze

The Extinguisher

Sawdust and leaves

Lay untouched in their abode

The drought never seems to cease

Leaving all life

Half-evaporated of life itself.

Disrupting the languid nature

An unexpected spontaneity

Amber sparks flicker about

A new life has begun,

Giving rise to smoke

Giving birth to carbon

As it crackles on passionately

Warming the carbon yet more

As if to lay

A cradle

With mittens and blankets--

A security for the newborn

That would have lasted

an eternity

But alas,

As age rises; as carbon ascents

As a young swallow leaves its nest

Embracing greater depths of the skies

With its newly formed wings.

Gone and beyond

In a foreign sky

Venturing

Into uncharted quarters

Where that protection

Slowly fades

Away from

Touch.

The climb up

Treacherous and torturous

The heart

Hardening and freezing

With unfeeling altitude

And as the currents

Nudge carbon back and forth

Back and forth.

It dares not venture any further

It shan't be increase the distance

Between itself

And its creator.

Till the whispering wind

Wanders about...

That devil.

In exchange,

That friendly protection

The red shiny cover

It had recently procured.

To cut all ties

That hold it.

To allow it to fly freely

Like severing

The string of a kite

Fire welcomes it home

That similar presence

As its silhouette wraps about in an embrace

Only to receive

A different air.

"Come over here, .... "

"Extinguisher." That reaffirming

Of its change of name

The altering of an identity.

Next a lethal spray

Cutting off all history

Of reason

Of its existence

No longer crackling

Nor passionate

The loitering mist,

A hint of a sigh.

Not disappointed

But acknowledgement

That the inevitable had come

The smoke fizzes

In laughter

"Its child still kept the middle name"

And in sheer contentment

Is brought away into darkness

It goes on

Like a severed kite

Directionless;

Subjected to the winds

Fancies.

To where one brings

That bright red

Canister

Exhausting every molecule

Of breath.

Digging Deeper

To shovel and spade through

The gravel and dirt

Of what forms the Earth

What will we discover?

A sinew of cables

Endless in nature

Infestation of networks

Replacing us souls?

Or

The bustling tunnels

Parasitic in nature

Hollowing earth out

Like lumbering louts

To keep foraging through

Would we uncover

The surface

A revelation

Thereby exposing,

The Earth's heavy heart

It's past plights

To the unfeeling light?

We might unearth

The roots and bones

Of a thousand years

Tracing the lines right down

To the end, but

What for?

And if we ever venture depth

Is it but a desperate redress

Or, a shielded repress?

For our minds are veined and stretched

But never,

Never to reach the Core

What reason would one need

To be tired of Surface;

And the choking lack of air

When venturing higher.

Thus methodically moving

In opposite currents

To discover soil

And the richness of it

To dig deeper

Need we have torch lights?

The scorching Core

And the jewels embedded

Which will shine us through?

To dig deeper...

What then,

Will one

Recover?

A tissue in the wind

I
Flutter in the wind

Released from a wrinkled hand

A drifting whitish strand

Finally flying free

The playful breeze nudges

Me as I swim down

Trying the butterfly stroke

In the currents of the air

Kicking hard desperately,

Almost in despair

But then the wind takes me along

To the unknown floor below

It says that I've done enough

To the next stage we'll go

Within the webs of leaves

The luscious trees

Visiting the crows that perch within

Wearing a coat so gaunt and lean

The branches of a thousand sorts

Prod me from all angles as I fall

The accelerated descent

Ruffles me wary

Of the pricks and tears in my skin

Well,

But off I go

No more brooding about that

Unappetizing experience.

Spreading out my wings

Like a parachute

I ponder on

For the reason why

The hand that threw me out

Could have thrown me into the rubbish chute

Did he think of this

Of letting me fly free?

As I float down

Blending in with the wind

Not really so

As one notices this unsightly rubbish

Floating out near her balcony,

When she finally took time

To appreciate the scenery.

And a couple of children playing

The very game

As I venture to the ground

Of a block of Lego

On and on

Till the second floor

An elderly man contemplating

At the window

In a swift motion

As if saving me from

My happy trip to death

He lifts a cane out

And I land

With my wings spread out on it.

He looks at me with quizzical wonder

Then shakes his head

In a disapproving nature

Wandering over to his bin

Then depositing me in.

Now surrounded by other trash,

My probable new score of friends,

In this squeeze of a chamber

I feel a sense of

Warmth and protection.

Nothing else would ever happen

Only the expected.

And as I dwell in my new abode

Of which I was to call home

Reminiscing

Of the adventure I had

-------------------------------------

I have no idea what this means, but I suddenly had this idea when some random tissue paper was floating by my window O.O

Iri-descent

Iri-descent

A lethargic frame makes her way down the stairs. A long way down, but nothing would prove long enough to challenge her. Even her bones had survived her for the last eight decades, albeit a couple of sprains in her younger days, days no longer glorious, but remain a blurry memory.

But while she descended this, the onset of rheumatism pointed out to her rather rudely-- even eternity will have an end.

A few gazes fell upon her. Whether it was due to her being a human road block, or wondering if she needed help, she would never know. She observed the soulless bodies trudging forward; they had neither a sense of purpose nor conviction. She missed the days when people would help each other readily -- they were long gone. Introduction of moral education, leadership lessons, whatever the Ministry and schools are doing; one would have thought, or at least hoped, that it would make a difference.

Or maybe, just maybe, displacement has been mistaken for achievement by those Ministry fellows.

Not just them; but society as a whole.

Her slippers were strewn over the stairs, marking her descent down.

A flash of a face, though familiar, yet distant. It was a man, with much resemblance of his younger self, but now with a face that has learnt not to trust. A side-glance to the old lady struggling down the steps, a hesitation on whether she needed help. That instant of giving in to his past self. Then a resolve; hurrying off to his destination, even if he did lose it long ago. Someone else will help her if she needs it, he assured himself. They all did.

A descent not counted successful by many, but at least she made it down.

As she leafed through pages in her memory, she finally recalled. A sudden scene crept into her mind. It was her, about forty odd years ago; in a classroom as an English teacher, analyzing a short piece. She introduced the term “diffused responsibility”. The class she taught was vibrant and cheery. Especially a boy who did not understand how this term could ever exist; residing and thoroughly hypnotized in his utopia.

She was lying in a pool of her own blood.

In this enclosure formed by a mob, all air and light fade, highlighting an onlooker. The dark silhouette of a future once bright.

He had forgotten.

Dictation

Elusive threads

Tugging at minds' ends.

Chess pieces caress the board

Playing an intense game

The outcome played out

Long before.

One chooses his choice of food

Never realizing

It was never his choice to begin.

And when a poet writes

About what one calls 'inspiration'

He'll never admit:

Every thoughtful word

Meticulously hand-picked;

Is but dictation.